The Driving Force
by BrickHouse430
Summary: What influences our mind and shapes our actions? Experience, or heart?


I was mincingly sitting in the grey, stone room for the first time in a month. Finally the punishment had ended. It had been excruciating, but I knew better. If I said anything about it, it would be worse.

The dark, small places weren't so horrifying as they believed. I cherished my time there. It was the whip that I couldn't stand. My impassive mask never slipped anymore. I refused to let them see me hurt and defeated. Pride in my heritage was all that mattered. I had given up any hope long ago, but it still was painful to know that no one loved even a hair on my head.

I leaned back on the narrow stone bench that was the bed, ignoring my injuries even when they stabbed my nerves. I was hungry, but I didn't care any more. Hunger had always been there.

The ever present mirror informed me that it was evening. I got up, and started walking to the heavy black wooden door. It was time for practice. I couldn't be late.

Though the day would come when I no longer had to bear this.

My Existence in the World

I was near the mouth of Diagon Alley, and I noticed when the portal to the mudblood world opened. Or did they call it the muggle world? I wasn't sure. Two people came through, a young boy and a tall, Goliath of a man. Both had black, unruly hair.

I didn't much care. I was trying to find a job so I could pay for some school things. I had gotten a strange letter a week ago. From a place called Hogwarts. The name was overly familiar, but I did not dwell on it.

No one wanted to hire a girl like me. Eleven, scrawny, poor and rather the worse for wear. I was not an eligible candidate for work. Refused time and time again. Then I found a small side alley. Knockturn Alley. I found someone there. No scruples.

His name was Henry Flourpuss. Or master, as he likes to be called. Or maybe he's dead now, I don't know, or care. He was elderly, but his shop was the cleanest on the street. He sold Dark Arts paraphernalia, but I didn't know that at the time. He specialized in poison. I couldn't have cared less. I was a good hand at brewing, so that's what he had me do. I had nights and weekend afternoons off. I never slept, having no place to do so. I met every one of his customers. I even spoke to all of them. They thought I was 'delightfully tolerant' and 'amusing'. I just didn't care.

I received ten Knuts a week. It wasn't the worst pay, but not nearly enough if I wanted to get new things. I settled for second hand. I had a bit of fun finding the best bargains, but it was hard to find everything. None of the second hand robes fit. I went to Madame Malkin's Robes for All Occasions, but I couldn't afford them if I wanted schoolbooks. I was checking everywhere before buying anything. I am a careful person. You can never be too careful.

Especially with a history and a name like mine. I never give out my real surname. It always brings mistrust from those who know. I had gotten my Hogwarts letter under the false name I had to get to be a citizen of Great Britain. I offered to sew the robes myself, and so cutting the cost of making the robes. Madame Malkin hesitantly agreed after a brief conversation:

"Ma'am," I began, "I can't afford to get robes. So I want to know if I could sew the robes and pay you for the material and not the labor."

Madame Malkin was rather taken aback by this forward approach from a scraggly young thing. "What?"

"I will sew the robes and pay you for the materials because I can't pay for you to make the robes."

"You want to sew them. Well, I don't know…"

"I'm the one who has to live with them, Ma'am. No one's to know. I can sew and I need those robes."

"Alright, but…I am not responsible if they aren't top quality."

"I know."

I paid for the materials and the use of her equipment. When Madame Malkin saw how my work, she offered me a job. So I sewed during weeknights. It earned some needed extra money. It also earned sore fingers that I didn't need, but complaining doesn't get you anywhere.

Londwood Wand

The time came when the Hogwarts Express was due to leave in a couple of days. I gathered my things. All I had in the world besides my school things was a notebook, the money I had left, and the clothes on my back. I had not gotten a wand yet. I knew I should have gotten a used wand, but none of them _felt_ right. I told Mr. Flourpuss and Madame Malkin goodbye and thank you. Maybe it is only in my mind, but they seemed glad to see me go. And yet, a shadow of sadness hung in their eyes.

I went into Mr. Ollivander's shop. I heard the bell and waited. He came quickly. At least quickly enough for me. I had no interest in what his shop looked like, and was in no hurry. "Hello," I had said, "I need a wand." I don't know what prompted me to say what I did next. "Preferably Londwood."

"Londwood, you say? Not many have ever even heard of Londwood, much less asked for it." I had been careless, but the Londwood wands had worked best for me and I wanted the best. I am a prideful person.

"Yes, Londwood." I stared into those large silver eyes. I didn't care that they were disconcerting. I needed a wand. The best I could get. I needed it. For every reason.

"I see. I have what might be just the thing." He didn't go to the walls of boxes, as I had expected, but to the window. Mr. Ollivander took the wand from the purple cushion and slowly walked back. "This wand is not just for anyone. If you can get it to wake, it's yours." He extended the wand, and I took it. As soon as my fingers touched it, the wand glowed. First red, then orange, yellow, green, blue and finally violet. No indigo. Mr. Ollivander took it out of my hand as I was looking at the beautiful colors. He wrapped it up and gave it to me, saying, " Londwood, eighteen inches, dragon heart string. Take good care of it." Then he pushed me out the door.

Train Remembrance

I did not stop to ponder as I put the wand in my bag and left Diagon Alley behind me. I didn't want to. I was afraid of what it might bring. I started walking, looking for someplace to find directions to King's Cross Station. I found instructions in a telephone booth. I looked at the map in the directory.

I spent the night sitting on a street bench. In the morning I started walking again. I reached King's Cross late in the afternoon. I sat down inside the station to wait for the train I was to take. The ticket from my letter said platform nine and three quarters. I didn't see any such platform, but what you see doesn't matter.

I found a pen on the floor. I decided to save it. I'm writing this with it right now. One of the few things not taken away from me.

Letting myself relax for a bit, I was glad I was going someplace. I had let my mind drift as I watched everything around me. Finally, though it seemed I had been watching only for a few minutes, it was time to get on the train that would take me to destiny. I had been observing, so I knew how to get onto the nine and three quarters. It was packed with people. I ignored the frivolous emotional displays and went straight to Hogwarts Express.

Besides, I had no one to be emotional with. I put my things in an empty compartment and sat down. Soon the compartment was full, and I was attracting strange stares. This wasn't new. I had never bothered about my looks before, and I felt that it wasn't really the time to start. Why would anyone care anyway. It isn't as if how you look is what matters. Except with some things, perhaps.

Even when I ignored her, this girl sitting next to me kept prattling on and on. She wasn't talking to me in particular, but to everyone, really. Everyone else ignored her too. I didn't really take pity on the poor thing, I just wanted her to shut up and leave me in my reflections. "What's your name?"

"Samantha Nott. What's yours?" She sounded so giddy that someone was listening to her.

"Morag MacDougal." I lied easily. I always did. It is one skill I have had to perfect. She looked at me sideways, as if she could tell something was wrong about my name.

"That name doesn't fit you. Do you mind if I call you Ora?" That was it. I couldn't have cared less what she called me.

"Not one bit." We talked sporadically for the rest of the ride. Mostly about her. She learned one or two things about me as well. Nothing important. Then she said we should change into our Hogwarts uniforms. She also insisted that she comb my hair. I let her. It didn't matter. What she said after she was finished did mean something to me.

"Are we friends?" A friend. One thing I could never have expected. Friends were supposed to be people you manipulated, that you used. I could see what she said meant something different.

"Yes. We can be friends." I knew I would not make a good friend. Too many secrets kill such things. But I would try. I would fail, but I would try. Besides, Samantha was not a girl who would give up.

Late Night Boating

"We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately." The train stopped soon after that. It was dark when we got off the train. The large man I had seen that day in Diagon Alley was calling for the first years. He was also asking about _Harry Potter._ If I had known he would be there, I would not have come. Arch-nemesis…I stood still and looked around, trying to see him. Samantha nudged me in the back.

"Go on! It won't be so bad. I'll see you in the Great Hall." She went toward some coaches. She didn't understand. Wasn't Harry Potter the…I made myself forget. I started toward the lamp held up high with the other first years. The trail we followed was steep. I enjoyed walking it. I didn't bother to get a 'firs' sight o' Hogwarts'. It was redundant. I would be seeing it soon enough.

"No mor'n four to a boat!" I got in one. No one else approached the boat I was in. The girls in the boat next to me were whispering. I could hear their voices carry over the water.

"Look at that girl over there."

"Isn't that the most severe look you've ever seen?"

"She's so stiff!"

"She could be pretty…If she gained 50 pounds!" I tuned their silly chatter out. What others thought of my appearance wasn't important. I looked like my father. That's all I needed to know.

I obediently ducked when I heard "Heads down!" I got out of the boat and followed the others up to a doorway after ignoring someone's cry of "Trevor!" The huge man knocked three times on the door of the castle.

Predicable Sorting

A witch I recognized opened the door. McGonagall. Now I remembered where I had heard of Hogwarts. Dumbledore was Headmaster. I was in a den of lions. I didn't care. They wouldn't find out. I followed McGonagall and the others to a room, passing the Great Hall. "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly."

I didn't look as she left the room. I didn't look when people screamed. It was just the Hogwarts ghosts. The castle had too many of them. Not worth bothering about.

McGonagall came and took the first years into the Great Hall. I stood with the others in front of the Sorting Hat and watched it sing it's song. I was a bit worried, but then again, who would the hat tell about me. When it was my turn the boy in front had forgotten to give the hat back. It was…not amusing.

I barely got the hat on my head when it shouted "SLYTHERIN!" I had known very well I was to be in Slytherin. It was unavoidable with a green and black heart. I went and sat down at the Slytherin table. Their congratulations went unheard. I looked for Samantha. She was a Gryffindor. She smiled at me, and waved. I surprised myself by waving back.

The feast was not much of a feast to me. I barely picked at it, afraid of what would happen if I actually ate. I was ravenous, but I didn't want to get sick. Sickness is despicable.

When it was time to go to bed, I followed the rest of the Slytherins. Down to a dungeon. It reminded me of what had been my home for ten years. Dark. Dreary. Then we got into the common room. It was nothing like what I was used to. Five other girls shared my dormitory. I didn't care. I went to the bed with my things on it. I sat down to wait for morning. I fell asleep for the first time in ages.

Running Before the Dawn

I blinked as I hazily came awake. It was before sunrise. I knew it though there were no windows. I thought _time to run. No, now I'm at Hogwarts, I don't have to run. But the old mandatory things might be…_That place is strange. I knew I would be ahead of everyone. That's what comes of it. I got up. I was a bout to leave the room when a girl in my dormitory woke.

"Where are you," she paused to yawn, "going so early?"

"Out," I said curtly, in voice that brooked no argument.

"Alright…" She trailed off as she rolled over and into sleep once more. I made my way out of a deserted common room, and up from the dungeon. I was in the Entry Hall when I met Professor Dumbledore. That was a day for having conversations I would have rather not had.

"Good Morning. Have I met you before?"

"Good morning, sir. No, sir." I was on guard. What I had heard about him was not comforting.

He smiled at something. "Do you mind telling me your name? Or do you even have one?"

"MacDougal, sir. Morag MacDougal." I gave him that false name that I detest. He had come so close to the truth. I detest the name Morag, but it works. Yes, that name works. As my name won't.

"Morag. I'm sure you don't know me, my name is Albus Dumbledore. But Headmaster to you." Again he smiled. I don't know why. I know and knew that he was Headmaster.

"I know, sir."

"So where are you going?"

"Running, sir."

His eyes betrayed that he was thinking. "Hmm. Go ahead and run along then." There was that smile again. What was he smiling about. I shall never know.

"Goodbye, sir." I walked out the front doors after a brief tussle opening them under Dumbledore's appraising eyes. Then I ran. I ran, and ran letting everything go except the running. The pounding of my feet. I ran until exhaustion overcame me. I collapsed on the ground, breathing hard. I watched as the sun rose and day dawned at Hogwarts. I went back inside.

I never did that again. I don't know why. I used to know. But not any more.

Years Meaning Nothing

I knew Hogwarts inside and out. I knew every passage, stair, and trick. This didn't help me get to class. Peeves was bent on torturing me. Finally, an hour late for my first class, I found where it was supposed to be. Unfortunately, it was Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall. The minute I stepped in the room she gave me detention. I didn't care. I also didn't bother to try to turn a match into a needle.

All the classes were like that. I never tried. It didn't matter. But with Potions, it was different. Snape captured my long dormant desire to learn with his first words.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making. As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses…. I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

I wanted him to tell me I did well. But it never happened. Never. Not in the five years I was at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts, I found, was boring. Four years passed with me working summers, and being bored for the rest of the year. I heard about Potter's adventures from the assemblies and Samantha, but none of that mattered to me. What should I care about him being the youngest seeker in a hundred years, or his Parseltongue. What I can do doesn't excite me much. Nothing is very exciting. To tell the truth, the basilisk was a mystery to me, one I wanted to solve. I didn't, though. I didn't even try. The Triwizard Tournament was silly. Who cares if one school has a better champion than another.

I can't say that the news Voldemort had risen again didn't interest me. That news was very interesting. I wondered if Lady Marianne would be accepted back into the fold.

I kept myself isolated. Always. You never know what people will do. The only exception was Samantha. We spent our free time together. We studied together, even though she was three years ahead of me. Every thing changed at the start of my fifth year. Samantha was gone. No more friendly face. No more listening ears. No one who cared. I hadn't realized I was so dependent on her until she was gone. It was an ache in my heart I had never noticed before she came into my life. It was loneliness.

The Driving Force

She stops writing her memoirs and thinks. _My fifth year…It was so different than the other four. That year I met Harry Potter. He changed my life. I never know whether to thank him, or hate him. _Her thoughts skip ahead to that eventful day where everything fell apart.

It was the first time I had ever seen him. He was about to kill Harry. Voldemort loomed over Potter like a cloud of pestilence. I put myself between them. I couldn't let it happen. I don't know why, but I couldn't. Wetness seared my cheeks. It was raining. I lifted a hand to the drops. I didn't care it was raining. I stared at Voldemort.

"So you want to die with the troublesome Harry Potter. Very well." He raised his wand. I reached out to him, then. I spoke. I shocked even myself with my words.

"No. She lied to me…" Voldemort hissed.

"Unknown…" The word echoed in my head. Then a thought shattered the cavern of my mind. Get the wand. Suddenly I leapt, lunging for the wand. My fingers brushed against it as Voldemort turned aside.

Then I was thrown into the wall. I crumpled to the floor. The last thing I saw before my world went black was my mother…dying for deceiving Lord Voldemort.

Thoma Marvala Riddle set her quill down, unable to continue writing after the painful memory. She was in Azkaban, awaiting her trial. The trial for risking her life to save one other's. The trial for daring to be a daughter. The injustice of it all made Thoma want to cry. She didn't cry. She would never let them see her hurt and defeated. Whether it was her dead mother, or anyone else.


End file.
